


Unwillingly Mine

by coloursflyaway



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Bloodplay, Claiming, Comeplay, Fingerfucking, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sexual Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 01:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4161228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloursflyaway/pseuds/coloursflyaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal answers Will in the catacombs.<br/>And by answering, I mean that he fucks him mercilessly against one of those pillars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unwillingly Mine

It’s colder down here than it is up in the church, than it is outside, where the Italian sun is making the air shimmer and twist over the hot sidewalk, dancing to a beat that Will cannot hear. He can’t hear much nowadays, nothing but the beating of his heart, the breaths he sucks in and lets out again; even that is a rhythm that doesn’t belong to him.  
Hannibal gutted him but didn’t leave him for dead, and somehow, it feels as if his life belongs to the other man now.

Maybe that is what brought Will here, at least that is what he hopes did – the other possibility (that there is still a part of him that wants to run away with Hannibal, a part which wants him desperately, passionately, irredeemably) sounds even worse. And yet, Will cannot shake the feeling that it is there, hidden just under the scar tissue that covers the wound that Hannibal left him now, that, if he scratched it open, he’d be right back where they started.

Will passes a corner, then another one – they all look the same, but it doesn’t matter, because he _knows_ that Hannibal is here, as if his blood on the other man’s hands has bound them together even more tightly; he can feel Hannibal’s breath, his thoughts, his entire being.  
And he follows, like he always has, calls out his name once, then twice, and tries to ignore how intimate it feels. Not Doctor Lecter, just Hannibal, like Will has been calling him in his thoughts for months.

His heart is beating fast, and Will isn’t sure if because he is scared or excited or both. Not because he fears for his life; he isn’t certain about a lot of things, but he is certain that Hannibal won’t harm him, will, in fact, go out of his way to keep Will safe.  
In Hannibal’s, no, in both their minds, Will is the other one’s for the taking.

Without any conscious choice, his feet stop and Will looks up, finds a ceiling but imagines it’s not that, but the one in the church, the one that Hannibal must have seen a hundred times in his mind palace, must love dearly. He feels closer to Hannibal there, somehow, even if it’s just a shared fantasy, a shared madness.

“I forgive you.”  
The words fall from his lips like a prayer, air-light and yet heavy as the heart Will carries in his chest; they sore up into the sky and bury themselves deep into the ground, spread their roots through the soil.

He hopes Hannibal can hear them.

There is nothing, no answer, and Will closes his eyes, waits, hopes. He didn’t expect anything and yet is disappointed when Hannibal doesn’t reply to his words, God doesn’t answer his prayer.  
He licks his lips, parts them and wants to say something, anything, but there is no time to do so; before his mind has decided on what words to use, God strikes him down.

There is a touch to his back, a forearm pressed against it, pushing him forward. Will stumbles, doesn’t have time to look behind him before he hits the pillar in front of him, the stone cold against his face and Hannibal’s breath hot against his neck.  
Although he still cannot see the other, Will knows that it’s him, knows that he would know Hannibal anywhere, anytime, under any circumstances.

“Hannibal”, he chokes out, feels the pressure against his chest tighten in response. He might have forgiven Hannibal, but he’s not sure if that is still true for the other as well.  
Neither of them moves, neither of them speaks, and it’s a new kind of peace, one that Will has never known before; his heart slows down, beats in time with Hannibal’s, his breathing slows until he is sucking in the air Hannibal exhales against his skin. It’s a new rhythm, one he still doesn’t own, but one he could submit himself to.

“William”, the other mutters and Will has never heard his name spoken like this before; it’s soft but not gentle, determined but not forceful, loving but not sweet. The word sounds like a brand, a claim.

A hand scoots down Will’s side and although he knew they were close before, he can feel it now, the length of Hannibal’s body pressed against his, hot even through the layers of clothing between them. And Will can remember how it felt without them, remembers a hot, slick mouth sliding down his chest, long-fingered hands arranging him on the bed as if he was precious, the last stroke on an otherwise finished painting, a hot cock pushing into him and making him choke on his breath.  
It’s been so long and yet Will remembers it like it was yesterday.

Before he knows it, a sound falls from his lips, soft and almost inaudible, a gasp, because his body remembers and because it wants to, wants this. Might never stop wanting this, the oblivion Hannibal provides with his touches and kisses and thrusts.

Hannibal knows, and Will isn’t even surprised anymore, almost expects the bite that inevitably comes, sharp teeth digging into his neck, almost but not quite drawing blood. Somehow, the other has always been able to read him.  
There is suction, just above the mark Hannibal has just bitten into his skin, hard enough that Will knows it will bruise, will remind him of this tomorrow and the day afterwards, knows that it is just what Hannibal wanted.

He pushes back against the other, and Hannibal bites down again until Will can feel the skin break, sharp pain shooting through him and he relishes in it, loves it, because being with Hannibal always did hurt. Should hurt, no matter if the other man is God or the devil.  
Again, he grinds back, and Hannibal sucks on the bite mark, licks away the blood seeping from the wound, and it’s as if Will could feel Hannibal’s cells and his combine.

A slick mouth travels up his neck and Will hopes it leaves smears of blood on his skin. Hannibal nips at his jaw, hard and viciously, while his hand squeezes Will’s hip, makes him groan.  
“Hannibal”, he breathes, wishes he could see the other, because he hasn’t seen him in more than eight months, has missed him. But there is nothing, no answer but another harsh bite, just below his jaw; it makes Will gasp.

The hand slides from his hip to his stomach, like a lover’s embrace, and Will can feel his body responding to the touches, his cock hardening against his stomach.  
He knows what will happen and yet Will pushes back against the other, hopes that Hannibal feels the same arousal building up inside him as Will does. Whether he does or not, he punishes Will with another bite, just below the one before.

Before Hannibal, Will would never have believed that pain could mix with pleasure, but now, every bite, every too-hard suck makes his cock harden, while he pushes back against Hannibal to earn another bite, another reward, another punishment.  
Hannibal makes a sound in the back of his throat, not gasp and not a moan, but close to it, and it’s as dizzying as the hand sliding down his stomach, because it sounds like Will feels. Like he has missed this.

Hannibal undoes the buttons of his pants and shoves them down along with his boxers, making Will shiver, not just because of the cold air that hits his sensitive skin but also because of the familiar sensation of being overpowered by the other man so easily, of Hannibal’s skin against his.  
His cock is half hard already, and Hannibal brushes his fingers over the length of it, makes Will groan softly when sparks of pleasure dance up his spine, to the place where Hannibal is still sucking on his neck.

Even that first time, Hannibal had known just how to touch him, and it seems that in all the months they haven’t seen each other, he hasn’t forgotten even on single detail – the fingers rub the head of his cock, tease the slit, while Hannibal continues to suck and bite on his neck, pleasure and pain mixing in the bottom of Will’s stomach.  
It doesn’t take long until he is panting, biting his lips to stop himself from making more noise than necessary. His cock is fully hard by now, and Will would be embarrassed how quickly his body is responding if he didn’t need this so much. Maybe the part of him that still wants to go with Hannibal, in another universe, another time, is bigger than expected.

Again, Hannibal bites at his neck hard, until the skin gives way, while he finally wraps his fingers around Will’s shaft, gives him a long, slow stroke. The simple pleasure is enough to make him gasp; Hannibal’s lips curl into a smile against his skin.  
The forearm, with which the other has pushed him against the pillar moves, disappears, and Will knows that he could turn around now, and he wants to, but he also knows that Hannibal will disappear the second he even tries to do so. This is not like times they fucked before, this is not love or whatever Hannibal believes love to be, this is intimate and scalding and bittersweet.

So Will stays where he is, lost between Hannibal’s hand around his cock, Hannibal’s teeth digging into his flesh, until there are fingers pushing against his lips. Fingers he knows, fingers he has kissed and sucked on, fingers that have milked orgasm after orgasm from him, fingers that made him see stars.  
Will parts his lips for them without hesitation, eyes fluttering open when he sucks them into his mouth, swirls his tongue around them. This might be the only lube he’ll get.

Back in Baltimore, Hannibal had hardly made a sound no matter what Will did to change that, and yet here, down in the catacombs, surrounded by corpses and shielded from the Italian sun, half-grunts and laboured breaths are coming from behind him, tell Will all he needs to know.  
He pushes back and Hannibal bites down, squeezes his shaft harshly, and Will feels his hips jerk, caught between wanting more and wanting to pull away.  
Not that Hannibal lets him move at all, keeps him pinned with his body while the hand he wrapped around Will’s cock is picking up its speed.

This isn’t teasing anymore, not like Hannibal used to touch him, making him want it until he was begging with every breath; this is Hannibal trying to push him over the edge.  
And he’s as good at it as he is at everything else, twists his hand just so when he strokes upwards, flicking his thumb across the slick and spreading slick precome over the length of Will’s cock. Strokes down a little slower than he strokes upwards and rubs his index finger over the sensitive spot just underneath the head.

Hannibal sucks especially hard on his neck, surely tasting blood; Will moans and Hannibal pulls his fingers from his mouth, leaving it empty and his lips slick with spit. The sound coming from him gets louder, especially when Hannibal kicks his legs apart, making Will fall forward against the pillar even more. It’s still cold against his cheek, but Will imagines it heating up against him, turning as scalding hot as Hannibal’s lips feel against his neck.  
Although he knows what is coming, Will still gasps when two fingers are pressed harshly against his hole, just wet with spit and nothing more. Hannibal keeps them there for a moment or two, just rubbing them across the tight furl of muscle before he presses them inside, making Will’s body yield to him.

It hurts like nothing with Hannibal has ever hurt before; it’s raw and it’s intimate, a burning stretch that takes Will’s breath away, and yet he doesn’t try once to escape.  
Around his cock, Hannibal’s hand is still keeping a steady rhythm, making the pain easier to bear. The other twists his fingers deep inside of Will and tightens his grip around his cock, seals his mouth around one of the bite marks on Will’s neck and _sucks_ ; even if Will allowed his body to move, it wouldn’t know where to.

Something that hasn’t changed about Hannibal is how merciless the other is. He pushes his fingers deeper and deeper still until Will is letting out a pained sound, then twists them viciously as if he wanted to hear it again. Will does him the favour, can’t help it, and allows the next moan to drip from his lips freely, doesn’t hold back the pain, the lust.  
It makes Hannibal groan ever so quietly behind him, makes the other stroke his cock faster, with even more dedication. The fingers inside him are spread apart, stretching him open, and Will almost sobs out, overwhelmed.

Before the pain even had chance to subside, before Will has gotten used to it, Hannibal adds another finger, sucks on his earlobe to make it better, squeezes the head of his cock. This is not about making him feel good, this is preparation for what is to come, clinical, efficient.  
The thought is almost painful.

Three of the other’s fingers are stretching Will open and they are too much,yet he craves more, although it hurts, although it feels like Hannibal is tearing him apart. Maybe because it feels like Hannibal is tearing him apart.

Hannibal seems to know, seems to feel it, because he hardly gives Will a second to breathe before he scissors his fingers again, slides them deeper. His knuckles are dragging harshly across Will’s insides, causing something that isn’t quite pain, isn’t quite pleasure to course through him.  
“Hannibal”, he breathes out, because every other word seems to have vanished from his mind, but it seems to be the right thing to say anyway, makes Hannibal twist his fingers just right. They brush over his prostate and make Will jerk, precome dribbling from the head of his cock.

Behind him, Hannibal lets out a sound that’s between a laugh and a growl, twists his fingers again and presses the tips right against that sweet, sweet spot that makes Will lose his mind. He rubs them there, again and again until Will isn’t even sure if he is just moaning or already sobbing.  
The pleasure is almost too intense, too intimate, and Hannibal makes sure the pleasure doesn’t ebb off, keeps sending wave after wave of pleasure through his body.

Without the other’s body keeping him fixed in place, Will knows that he would have fallen down already, his knees giving in and leaving him tumbling to the ground. But Hannibal doesn’t let him fall, keeps him upright and pinned between both his hands and his mouth.

It doesn’t take long after that until Will can feel his orgasm approaching, liquid heat pooling in his lower stomach, spreading through his limbs, making his blood burn.  
Ever since Hannibal first touched him, Will has known that the other can make him feel more than anyone else manages to, but he must have forgotten just how much more; when he comes, he comes almost violently.

At first it's just a few sparks of pleasure, a trickle that turns into a wave, a tsunami that sweeps him away, buries him until Will is gasping for breath, his hips moving on their own account, his cock spurting come all over Hannibal’s hand.

The other bites down hard on his neck again, and Will, even with his mind still fogged with pleasure, every thought frustratingly slow, expects the other to leave him here. Because Hannibal won’t allow Will to see him, he knows that much.  
And yet, the body behind him doesn’t move, milks his orgasm from him until Will has no air left in his lungs from moaning.

“H-Hannibal”, he gasps out when the other won’t stop stroking his cock, his fingers still rubbing Will’s prostate mercilessly, and at first, he fears that the other either doesn’t hear him or doesn’t listen, but then long, clever fingers are pulled back, leaving him sore and open; Will tries his best to feel like his heart isn’t breaking.  
He bites his lips, forces himself to stay still when the other starts to pull away, because he won’t give Hannibal the satisfaction of turning around, of trying to look at him when he knows he’s not allowed to.

But Hannibal doesn’t leave, stays so close that Will can feel his breath against his flushed skin, hot while the pillar is cold against his cheek.  
Will forces his eyes to close, just to avoid temptation, to avoid thinking too much about this. There are slick sounds coming from behind him, the slide of skin against skin, and Will feels his heart pick up its pace; he’s scared because he knows that Hannibal would be capable of fucking him with just his spit as lube, and he knows that he wouldn’t move away, even if his insides would tear, the blood would drip down his thighs. Because this is a fight, a battle, just like everything they do is.  
And Will is not going to lose.

His legs are still feeling weak, but he pushes himself up, feels Hannibal moving closer again, like a wolf cornering its prey. Lips are brushing over his neck, over bite marks and bruises, they’re as soft as a breath, a lover’s touch, and yet they make Will shiver, both in anticipation and fear.

“William”, Hannibal whispers, the bites him, hard, not into the meat of his shoulder, but directly into his throat, tearing tender skin. It feels like Hannibal is ripping his throat open, doing to him what he did to Abigail, just sweeter, more intimate, and for a few moments, Will thinks he is going to bleed out right here, below the ground, in Hannibal’s mind palace.  
But no matter how much his throat hurts and throbs, the bite isn’t deep enough to reach his carotid, just shows him what Hannibal would be capable, just like the other showed him when he gutted him, left him bleeding on the floor.

The thought should be enough to make him push away, but instead Will moans, low and deep and desperate; his spent cock twitches, aches.  
“William”, Hannibal mutters again, this time directly into the blood seeping from the bite on his throat.  
And then, he kicks Will’s legs apart, makes him fall against the pillar once more, face first. For a moment, he’s disoriented, and Hannibal uses that shamelessly. The forearm on his back returns, pushes him harshly against the pillar, while Hannibal shifts, moves closer until there is a blunt pressure against his stretched, gaping hole.

Just for a second, though, because Hannibal has never been one for mercy. He pushes into Will ruthlessly, not once slowing down or stopping, and Will cannot even scream, because there seems to be no air left in his lungs.  
And yet, there is no tearing, none of that ache that Will dreaded. Hannibal’s cock is thick and hard inside him, not enough lube and not enough preparation to make it anything less than painful yet, but Hannibal isn’t fucking him dry.

It takes Will a few moments until his mind is catching up with what this has to mean; when it does, he cannot help but gasp, push back although it hurts, because the thought is absolutely _filthy_.  
Hannibal chuckles against his neck, pulls out slowly, making Will feel every inch of the other’s cock rubbing against his insides, slippery only with Will’s own come.

Back in Baltimore, in Wolftrap, it was never like this, always carnal but never this violent, and yet it feels like what Will needs, desperately needs, even if it feels like Hannibal is splitting him in two when he pushes back in, forces Will’s body to give way. It feels like redemption, like a punishment, and although Will knows he doesn’t deserve it, he feels right to take it.

Again, Hannibal slots his around one of the bite marks on his throat, the most dangerous, most intimate one this time; he sucks and Will moans, bites his lips and clenches his hands to fists. It feels good as much as it hurts and it doesn’t make sense , but then again, hardly anything around Hannibal makes sense.

So Will gives up. Gives himself over to this, because he’s just clutching to sanity with the littlest bit of strength he has left anyway and because he won’t beat Hannibal out in his world, but he might beat him once he becomes part of the other’s world once again.  
It’s easier than it should be. Will allows his eyes to open, then pushes back, impales himself on Hannibal’s cock.

It's just merciless as Hannibal’s thrust before, hurts just as bad, but this time, it’s better, because it’s Will decision.  
The punishment is as expected as it is swift; Hannibal pushes him harder against the pillar, draws back and snaps his hips back, buries his cock deep inside of Will. It makes him cry out, a sound between moan and pained scream, and Hannibal smirks against his throat, licks away more blood and sets a pace.

Hard, fast thrusts, which almost drill Will into the pillar, make him see stars and forget to breathe, but somewhere along the way, something changes. The pain is still intense, burning him up, but there is a spark of pleasure mixing with it, the ever-present hint of lust unfolding into something so much vaster, more intense.  
It starts with a sweet little flame that grows into a wildfire, every of Hannibal’s thrusts rubbing every right and wrong place inside him, until one hits the perfect one, makes Will cry out as much as the pain did before. It’s a sort of firework, because he missed this, the sheer force of Hannibal’s presence, the violence and the intensity, the feeling of having found someone who looks at him and knows him.

The pleasure mixes with the pain that’s still coursing through Will with every of Hannibal’s thrusts, tendrils of both intertwining and spreading out through his stomach, his limbs, until they have touched every of his cells.  
It’s overwhelming and still Will pushes back, tries to get more of it still; he’s hooked and knows it within seconds.

Hannibal seems to know just what he needs, puts one hand on Will’s hip and uses it to pull him back, doubling the force of the next thrust. It rips through Will, the head of Hannibal’s cock dragging harshly across his prostate.  
It’s still overly sensitive from Hannibal’s fingers before and that just adds another layer of pain, of pleasure, makes Will keen. His cock is still soft, but Will can feel it twitching, knows that he would be coming untouched if Hannibal hadn’t just pushed him over that edge.

Once more, the other pull him back against him, licks blood of his skin, and Will thinks he can hear Hannibal groan. His breath is coming in harsher gasps, and it’s as addictive as the slide of his cock is; even before this, before Hannibal let Will know him, the thing he had really wanted was to touch the other, make Hannibal feel as shaken by his presence as Will always felt by the other’s.

Hannibal slows down his thrusts a little, fucks him deeper, harder, in a way that drives Will mad, because it’s just so, so close to being what he needs.  
Because this doesn’t hurt quite as bad anymore, the burn of his muscles having all but faded, and Will realises, with wide eyes and a racing heart, that he needs it. The pain, the pleasure, Hannibal’s cock inside him and the other’s teeth ripping him apart.

And suddenly everything is brighter, everything is sharper, every thrust and every bite, every spark of pleasure and every twinge of pain, because Will needs this and knows why now. He needs it because the world is so dull without Hannibal’s fingers and his lips, without his tempting words and his twisted ideas, his ability to see Will as who he is, nothing more and nothing less. Because he needs the pain and he needs to earn forgiveness, he needs to be redeemed for his betrayal and for all the betrayals that will undoubtedly follow, he needs to be shattered once more, and brought together.

Hannibal’s lips are moving against his neck, forming words that he cannot hear, cannot understand, and Will wants to turn and taste those words on his tongue, muttered into his mouth, kissed into his lips. But Hannibal keeps him pinned, fucks into him with all the force Will can possibly take.  
His cheek must be rubbed raw by the rough stone its pressed against, but Will doesn’t even notice the burn of it anymore, instead he’s glad for the coolness against his skin, grips the pillar and uses it to steady himself, cants his hips and spreads his legs.  
The motion draws a sound from the other’s lips, something hoarse and low, and Will pushes back, meets Hannibal halfway, the added force making him moan. Slowly, his cock is hardening again, and Will wishes he could slide one of his hands down to stroke himself, make sure they’ll come together.

Because he has seen, felt, heard Hannibal orgasm often enough to recognise the signs, the heavy breaths and the sharper thrusts, the nails digging into his hips. And God, he wants it, needs it, the feeling of being claimed so intimately, the knowledge that he made Hannibal feel just like he is feeling.  
Once more, Will pushes back against Hannibal, catches him off guard and makes the other moan; his own cock is twitching.

“Hannibal”, he breathes out, and Hannibal bites into his shoulder, snaps his hips viciously. It sends a jolt of pleasure through Will, white-hot and blinding, because Hannibal still manages to hit his prostate, still knows his body better than anyone else.  
“Hannibal”, Will repeats, and cannot tell if the next thrust is a reward or a punishment. Hannibal is losing himself, and it’s the most beautiful feeling in the world, makes his cock swell rapidly and his thoughts spin.

Although they have done this countless times before, Will cannot remember ever seeing Hannibal like this, raw and beyond teasing words, just physical strength, desire. He relishes in it, drinks it in, spreads his legs just that little bit further and lets Hannibal use him.  
The other is relentless, merciless in his lust, takes and takes and takes, fucks Will until his knees all but give out, until his cock is fully hard once more, begging to be touched.

“Hannibal”, he gasps, in between thrusts, gives up the last breath of air that’s still left in his lungs for those three syllables, and Hannibal answers; he presses Will harder against the pillar and buries himself inside of him with one, final thrust. His lips find Will’s neck, suck the blood right from his wounds, and then he’s coming, filling Will up.  
It’s a mark like no other, and Will’s cock is throbbing between his legs, needing a touch, any touch, but Hannibal doesn’t give it, and so Will stays still as well, focusses on the slick, hot feeling so deep inside of him.

Back then, when they were colleagues, friends, lovers, Hannibal had sometimes sucked the come right out of him again, or had used a plug to keep it inside of Will all day, but now, it doesn’t take more than a couple of moments, a huffed out breath and a last lick over Will’s abused, aching neck, before Hannibal pulls out, steps back.  
The air feels colder than it did before against Will’s flushed skin, cruel and lifeless, and he doesn’t dare breathe, doesn’t dare think. He might hope, but what for, he isn’t sure.

Two fingers travel over his spine, hot even through the fabric, and Will forgets about everything but that point of contact, the last inch that still connects them.  
“Find me”, Hannibal mutters, and it feels like a punch, like a lover’s caress.

And then he’s gone.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you want to say hi, send me a prompt, or tell me something nice, you can find me on Tumblr here:  
> [X](http://www.coloursflyaway.tumblr.com)


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